“The vehicles aren’t here for the neighbors,” I replied.
My father’s embarrassment hardened into anger.
“You brought armed men to your family’s home on Thanksgiving.”
“This is my home.”
His mouth tightened.
“We have lived here for seven months.”
“Because I invited you to stay after David was reported dead.”
“You needed us.”
“I needed my parents. That is not what I got.”
The second soldier returned carrying the compact field case David and I used for secured materials.
He placed it beside me, verified the seal without opening it, and lifted the cardboard box from the freezing concrete.
The box contained two uniforms, my medical file, several photographs, and the folded blanket David had bought after we learned I was pregnant.
Harper watched him carry it as if she could not understand why the belongings she had ordered into the garage were being handled with care.
The team leader approached me.
